#quote meme.

[ What went through Crowley's mind when saying "This hurts you more than it hurts me." ]

Oh, but it does hurt.

The blade coaxes a brief ray of light from the angel's shoulder-- Grace shining, a physical embodiment of the light that is his and he ought to catch that light in his hands, let it slip through his fingers and--

The words spill from his mouth hurriedly, unbidden-- his eyes shine, flames flickering within, and he doesn't care; it's wonderful, the not-caring, he can say what he likes & stab where he likes & the rules are tattered, discarded and disregarded; he hates it, it's wrong, he's they've both gone and spoiled it.

He doesn't usually drag fun out of torture, does he? Torture is business, like paperwork for stubborn clients, it's not supposed to be fun-- it's not supposed to feel like losing.

Forever, though. They have forever, in this room, they can both go on forever in this room-- he almost doesn't want to hear the names, or the truth, he just wants this loop of their broken game. 

[ What went through Crowley's mind when saying "Samandriel, slumming it, are we?"

The room is full of people, & yet it is-- feels like it's just them-- not in a romantic sense, not in a good sense-- his view is focused from the moment he steps through the door, skipping over red & white stripes, narrowing slightly against bright light that the others, dim-witted and dull, are too blind to notice.

Assert your presence-- by the rules, acknowledge him before the game begins.

(Before you end win this game.)

Measured steps, heels clicking-- make eye contact-- he's my only opponent in the room, and I am his. The derogatory comment comes naturally, keeps the smile off your face. 

It's been too long since we last played.